Tell Me
by whitequeen73
Summary: Life-altering changes don't come gradually; they tend to start with something seemingly insignificant - a movie, a missed train - or a babysitter falling sick.  HAMERON dynamics from a totally different POV.
1. Part 1 of 4

He'd always liked the ambience of his room, especially in the autumn time, like now, with the red foliages shadowing the small window, clothing the chamber in a mystic subdued light. It felt safe and calm, even with the austere furnishing. Being confined to his room had never been a real punishment for him; he spent most of his time in there anyway, enjoying just being left alone with his thoughts and textbooks.

Unfortunately, John House had soon spotted this phenomenon; that's when the nights in the back garden had started, locked out of the family home. The man seemed to be satisfied with himself for figuring out a new sort of training aside from icy baths and early dawn gymnastics for his son to become a "good marine".

And still he had to be let down by the damn boy, who had the guts to throw the family tradition to the dogs, and chose frog autopsies over the uniform.

But he was 21 now, of age in every state of the world, ready to leave the parental house with all the sour memories behind, as soon as possible. A few more years of university and it would be all over. But never forgotten.

Of course, there were a few things in this house that he felt a bit sorry leaving behind, like...

"Gregory, dear!"

He sighed, just a bit tense, because he knew from experience that even his mother's sweet voice could indicate something highly disagreeable. She never even tried to stand up to her husband. Nevertheless, he stepped to the door to obediently answer the call.

* * *

><p>Autumn had always been her favorite season, even though she hadn't seen too many of them yet. She breathed deep, inhaling the rich scent of soil, dead leaves, bonfires and God only knows what more, which was autumn itself. She kept stepping right next to the sidewalk, to tread into the leaves, feeling them rustle under her small sandals and tickle her ankles. From time to time, horse chestnuts rolled out from under them and across the road, but she was afraid to go any further from her mom (moreover onto the road, even if there was hardly any traffic), and she knew she already had two shoeboxes at home full of those shiny brown balls.<p>

And especially now, she didn't feel in the mood of playing. She mentally scolded herself and felt ashamed, as she knew she wasn't a baby anymore who cries after her mommy every time she has to be alone for a while. And actually, she won't even be alone this time... Still, her tummy felt tight and she wished that the short walk would come to an end already. Waiting for something she was afraid of was always worse than the actual thing itself.

Finally, they reached their destination: a house just a bit bigger than its surroundings, the garden just a bit stricter and less colorful than the others around.

The fence gate was locked, unlike the usual in their neighborhood, so they had to wait outside until someone came out to the sound of the doorbell.

Though her heart was pounding in her throat, the appearing of Mrs. House soothed her mind a bit. She remembered having seen her a few times on the way back from kindergarten, waving over to them in her gardening gloves; or in the supermarket, talking a few words with her mom and each time reaching down to stroke her head. This time wasn't an exception: the gentle hand on her braided hair wasn't exactly disagreeable. She muttered a low, but polite hello, and really tried to focus on what the adults were talking about. But soon a ladybug took her attention, completely mesmerizing her as it climbed up the fence with a mentionable tempo and purposefulness, then back down on the other side, with no less enthusiasm. Before she could have noticed, she lost track of the conversation.

"I'm really sorry; I wouldn't ask such a big favor if I had any other choice..."

"Oh come on, Lily, you know that any time, with pleasure... However now..."

"I simply cannot believe Martha fell sick just now... I know I can't blame her; she helped me out so many times... But now, when I really have to..."

"Hey, stop with the apologies! I'm glad to help you any time, but..."

"Still, this is a great favor..."

"That's not the problem... It's that John and I are also heading out."

The young woman's face fell, even her shoulders slumped, and suddenly she looked completely desperate.

"I simply can't bring her along..."

"Of course you can't! Please don't start to panic at once, let me finish. I absolutely have to accompany my husband: this reunion is a huge social event for the NAVY; everyone is bringing their wives... You know, it's a bit like the First Lady's presence..." – she looked back over her shoulder in a guilty way and lowered her voice – "...at least John feels just as important as the President."

She giggled and the other woman shifted her weight from one leg to another, awkwardly waiting for the chatter to end.

"But Gregory will be home."

The little girl's gaze immediately left the little insect and flickered up to the middle-aged woman's face. The name she had just heard started something inside her; she tried to gather the blurred and incoherent memories about someone so mysterious that the thought alone made the hair on the back of her neck stand on edge.

She held her breath and wrinkled her tiny forehead, but all she could catch were faded impressions from her short past. A lanky figure pacing the sidewalk, heavy books under his arm, leaning over the fence (_this_ fence) and unlocking the gate with ease, before disappearing into the house. And a pair of eyes... That had been so long ago, she'd been so little, so very-very little... They'd been walking home, she and her mom, hand in hand; and her mom had stopped at this fence to chat a few words with Mrs. House. And suddenly the front door had opened and a voice called: "Mom...". Her three year old self had been completely stunned by the fact that this very, very tall boy, almost a grown man, calls this woman Mom, just like she did to her Mommy... The boy had stopped next to them; politely said hello to the woman, but his gaze had just brushed over the tiny nothingness behind the fence that was she. Still the very sight of the icy blueness and the depth of his eyes had paralyzed her. They had been just like the scary Mr. House's, and had made a contrast with the warm brown gaze of Mrs. House. As far as she could remember, she even had dreamt about those eyes that night. It was frightening but somehow good; like listening to a fairytale and hiding under the covers when the witch appears.

And now all this was back at the mere mention of a name.

Her mother looked a bit unsure, but Mrs. House smiled at her encouragingly.

"Why are we standing here? Come in, come in!" – With this, she unlocked the gate and waved them in. She followed the adults shyly.

"Gregory, dear!" – the older woman called out loud, addressing her words to a closed door just at the top of the stairs. She immediately hid behind the doorframe, but she couldn't fight her curiosity, and carefully peaked out from her shelter.

The door opened and she held her breath. A couple of almost soundless footsteps down the wooden stairs, and he was standing just behind his mother, head slightly bowed, waiting for what they had to tell him.

At that moment, another man appeared from the direction of the kitchen, and this made her jump. John House was dressed in full uniform, back straight, almost as tall as his son, piercing blue eyes scanning the room from under thick brows. If she hadn't been big enough to know that neighbors didn't tend to eat children, she may had been chickened out and run away for good.

"Who's that, Blythe?" – John asked on his way out. Then saw the thin young woman in the doorway and briefly nodded towards her.

"Lily here needs a babysitter urgently, and I thought Gregory could..."

"Rubbish." – the marine growled, freezing the air immediately. – "He couldn't even take care of a goldfish. He has no idea of responsibility, no matter how hard I try to teach him."

The boy in question felt a wave of anger rise quickly inside his chest. He knew his father legally had no power over him anymore, still he felt nervous. Fortunately he was smart enough to know that this bullying only held him back from whatever he tried to achieve, and was fighting hard to ignore it.

"Sir" – he said in a restrained voice. – "I'm standing right here."

John stared at his son as if seeing him for the first time in his life.

"I know." – he answered mercilessly.

Greg let out a breath. He lost, again; it's impossible to find a grab on this man.

"John, dear, he's 21..." – Blythe tried gently. – "And the little one has her toys with her; she's big enough to just play by herself and not to do anything silly. They're going to be just fine, don't you, Gregory?"

Well, as for him, he had some doubts about that, but knew he had no word against his mother's decision.

"Actually, I have a test on Monday and..." – he tried weakly.

"Oh dear, you can just study next to her. I'm sure she won't disturb you."

He let out a sigh.

"Right. Where is it?" – the moment he pronounced the pronoun, he regretted it, but couldn't take it back. His mother gave him a reproachful look.

"But honey, she is not »it«, you know well, she's a sweet little girl." – She reached behind the doorframe and, visibly against the child's will, pulled her out and into sight. – "Remember little Allison, don't you?"

* * *

><p>TBC! Please tell me what you think. Virtual hugs to all my Hameron (&amp; misc.) readers! Love, WQ<p> 


	2. Part 2 of 4

He scanned the small creature from head to toe, several times, sneeringly. Maybe it was his military breeding, but he couldn't look at something this ridiculously small and fragile any other way. His eyes took in the tiny leather sandals with the white socks (now a bit grayish, but kids are always dirty), the red jumper, and the two short plaits projecting on the sides of her head like mouse's tails. Hands clamped behind her back, she just keeps staring with those immense eyes of hers. This last thing made him slightly nervous. _This is not natural. _Half of her face are eyes, blue-green-grayish, crystalline clear windows to her sprouting soul.

A couple of seconds later, he mentally shook and tore his gaze away from hers. He knew he would greatly regret it, but nodded in resignation.

Allison's gaze turned away from him, too, onto her Mommy lowering herself to one knee in front of her, brushing her bangs from her forehead. She felt an awful tightness in her throat and tears gather in her eyes. Suddenly she was angry with herself. She really was big enough to understand that Mommy had to leave for a while, but she would be back, she wouldn't leave her. But no matter how many times she repeated these encouraging lines in her head, she couldn't stop herself from snuggling against her mother, a tiny fist clutching tightly on her blouse.

"Allie honey, Mommy will be back before you know it; you play with Gregory until then; why don't you show him how beautifully you can draw? Then you go to sleep like a good little girl, and Mommy will wake you up to take you home, okay? And Mommy will bring you something… something really beautiful…" – she cooed, but little Allison wished she had stopped talking. She clearly felt the nervousness in her mother's voice, and that she was hurt, too, having to leave her here. The corners of her pouting mouth now turned down uncontrollably, but she managed to squeeze out a breathy "O.K.", and restrained herself from holding on when her mom gently pushed her away and stood up. She kept staring at her longingly, just a bit alarmed when Blythe House laid her hand onto her hair. Until then, the woman had been whispering silent orders to her son in hurrying sentences. Now her husband already stood on the gravel outside the door, making a big show taking a look at his expensive watch. Blythe put an encouraging arm around Lily's shoulder, and together they walked out onto the street, while John pulled up onto the driveway in the huge black car.

Allie watched all this, hypnotized, and she jumped when the front door closed on the sight before her. An icy dread started mounting her spine as she felt a gaze on her back. Still she shyly turned around and peeked at the tall boy leaning against the railing.

Ignoring the disturbingly admiring glance, he spoke in a low voice.

"Rule number one. No whining."

Allie wanted to protest, when she felt that her cheeks were wet and her eyes prickling. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped her face and straightened her little form, defiant.

"I'm not whining. I am almost this old." – She held up a tiny palm with all five fingers spread out wide. – "I didn't even cry when Tommy Greaves pushed me off the monkey bars, though that hurt very, very bad! And there's still a huuuge, ugly wound on my leg! Wanna see?" – She eagerly started peeling the healing patch off her knee.

Greg recoiled a bit, rather from the unexpected flood of words than the idea of examining a little child's bruised knee.

"No, thanks." – he protested quickly. Allie shrugged.

"I can understand; it's really scary…"

The corner of the boy's mouth twitched, but he immediately felt slightly annoyed, because he thought forward and realized how many hours of this never-ending babbling awaited him. He decided making sure not to encourage the little one to tell the whole story of her almost five years.

"Okay now, I have stuff to do. Got your toys? Good." – he acknowledged when Allie spun around to show her briefcase-sized backpack. He ushered her into the living room. – "See? That corner is yours. You even have a table. You sit there and not make a sound, unless you're really starving, or uhm… Can you go to the toilet by yourself?" – he asked, strained.

"Of _course_ I can!" – the little girl snapped – "I'm…"

"I know, I know. Almost that old." – He couldn't help but let out a small but relieved breath. No way he let them make him fuss around with diapers. Hell knows when these kids get potty trained nowadays. – "So I don't wanna hear from you until you have to eat or go to bed. I'm everything but your playmate. Understood?"

The child nodded a bit nervously, but obediently went and sat on the carpet next to the coffee table, took off her backpack and started unpacking her crayons.

Gregory quickly mounted the stairs to grab his notes from his room. He would have preferred staying there, but who knows what a four year old can do to an immaculately tidy living room in five minutes alone. And no way he let her near his precious stuff here. So he had no choice but to go back down with a heavy book and several pages of scrabbled notes under his arm.

He was relieved to see that the kid was still busy trying to grab her things all at once, both arms in the backpack up to the elbow. She only looked up when she heard him enter the room, and gave him a glowing, mouse-toothed grin.

He just shook his head, again, and looked around for a relatively peaceful spot for himself. His glance brushed over his father's bureau door, but that was clearly out of question. He still carried the reminder of his first and only exploration in there on his lower back. After a few moments of hesitation, he lowered himself into an armchair near the sunlit window. That was his mother's territory and as that, safe to use.

He sighed and buried his nose into the book, immediately closing the outer world out.

He really, really needed this, needed to be good, the best, in order to finally get the long desired freedom and autonomy. He concentrated his thoughts and started memorizing.

It didn't take five minutes for him though to be distracted already. He had been unconsciously hearing the little girl scurrying around the room for a while, but the blood froze in his veins when something he caught from the corner of his eye broke through his wall of concentration.

In a second, he was at the bureau door, and grabbed the little impostor from behind by the neckline of her playing dress like a kitten, and spun her around to face him. She cracked a shy grin at him.

"What do you think you're doing?" – Greg growled at her. Merely five minutes, and she's already making trouble.

"I… I… You told me not to go to you, unless I'm hungry or have to go to bed. I'm not hungry and it's not bedtime yet, so I thought…" – her thin voice faded away at the strict look on her supervisor's face. She didn't want to do anything wrong, she really didn't. She just…

"I just…" – she mumbled.

"What do you want?" – Greg scowled.

"I don't have any paper to draw on…" – she breathed.

Greg huffed, grabbed a couple of sheets from the bottom of the stack of his notes, and pushed them roughly into her hands, then pointed towards her corner.

"Here. Now get lost."

The little girl stared at the paper in her hands, and swung on her heels back and forth, but didn't make a step away.

"Now what?" – Greg asked in despair. Allie peeked up at him.

"These are lined…" – But at the glare the boy gave her, she rather scurried back into the corner, neck between the shoulders, and with a sigh way too big for a little thing like her, she started rummaging between her colorful crayons.

Greg sighed, too – he might be hyperventilating if he had to calm himself down with deep breaths so often, he thought. He sat back and got immediately lost in medical science again.


	3. Part 3 of 4

_After the rather just linking second part, here starts the real core of this short story. Thank you guys for reading & reviewing, and being open to this "very far out premise" (woodelf :) ) that after long hesitation, I risked to publish. WQ_

* * *

><p>The next time he became aware of his surroundings was when an orange shaded ray of sun found its way through the foliage of the sycamore trees lining the street, and made him squint. In his chest he felt the contentedness of the progress he'd made, and decided to allow himself a little break. He gathered his notes, shoved them into the textbook as bookmark, and stretched his legs with a satisfied grunt. He looked up and jumped a little in his seat at the greenish orbs staring right into his eyes from the far corner of the room. Honestly, he actually forgot about her.<p>

He gave her a glare.

"You're creepy."

"That's a rude thing to say to somebody!" – protested the little girl.

"You still are." – He pushed himself up from the armchair, cracking his knees in the process. He let his gaze waver on the child. It's only now that he felt his stomach rumble, and a flash of guilt ran through him as he thought of how hungry she could be. But he shrugged it off and put his superior posture back right away.

"So… I'm grabbing a bite. You can come if you want." – He hesitated. – "What do you usually have for dinner?"

The girl's eyes shone up, and the flood of words she'd had to keep inside for so long now rushed out at one breath.

"Well when I'm really, really good, I pack my toys and paintings and crayons, and I don't bring Mirka up to my room to play with, Mommy makes me peanut butter sandwiches, but only one slice of bread buttered, the other just on top, and she cuts the crust off, and when she puts it on the Rooster and Hen plate, she…"

"Right!" – he raised his voice to cut the never-ending babbling. – "…Who's Mirka?"

Allie looked back at him in amusement – it was just comic how this awfully smart boy didn't even know who Mirka was; but she did. She suddenly felt him a breath lower from the heights of maturity and knowledge, closer to her.

"Mirka the cat. You should know."

Greg's jaw went slack. When had this kid become so cocky?

"…Head to the kitchen." – he directed her – "We'll see what we can do."

* * *

><p>He took a peak at the girl behind his back as he rummaged through the contents of the cabinets and the fridge. After a short struggling, she managed to climb up into the stool at the counter island, and was now silently observing his every movement, swinging her legs.<p>

"I got jam. You'll have that." – he announced.

"Ooo-kee!" – she agreed, and watched as he spread strawberry marmalade on a slice of whole grain bread, folded it in two, cut it in half and pushed it in front of her on a small plate. She immediately grabbed it and started eating.

After some lingering, he settled for leaning against the opposite counter, nibbling on a sandwich himself. The idea of sitting down and eating with her seemed just weird.

"So…" – He didn't know why he had the urge of small talk, what he normally disliked, even with an equal. – "I hope that just because I wasn't breathing down your neck the whole time, you didn't eat any of your crayons or something."

The little girl gave him a reproachful look over the rim of her bread.

"Of course not, I'm not a baby." – She paused. – "How do you do that, breathe down somebody's neck?..."

"It's a figure of speech. Never mind."

The child wrinkled her forehead for a second, but something visibly shifted in her mind – her face lit up, and she hopped down the high stool at once.

"I drew you something!"

"Not until you finished!" – he exclaimed involuntarily. The little girl froze, and this time, he could clearly feel guilt wash all over him. He was shocked and disgusted. He had heard this spiteful sentence way too much, turning the small joy of food into a rigid obligation for him at each family meal. It was one of the hundred things he'd sworn himself he'd never ever say to his own child. And here he was, not even a parent yet, and he already failed, at the very first occasion. He heard his father in the barked order, and he felt him inside his brain, his cells, himself – he felt possessed, guilty, dirty – he wanted nothing more than to exorcise this man's trace from his life forever.

He felt lightheaded and numb, but he saw the alarmed child in front of him. He swallowed.

"Go get it" – he muttered. – "if you're up anyway."

"It can wait until I'm done." – murmured the girl, and slowly climbed back on the chair. But somehow the half-consumed sandwich didn't look so appealing anymore. She poked it with a finger.

"Why aren't you eating?" – called out her overseer, irritated.

"The crust…"

"I'm not cutting the damn crust off, I'm not your mother, understood?" – snapped Greg, the pain and frustration kicking in at full force. – "You've eaten three quarters of it without a word, so don't you go picky on me now! Shut it and eat!"

But Allie didn't feel up to take any more bite. Her throat felt tight and tears were prickling at the back of her eyes. And the bread didn't taste good anymore. It wasn't the crust, of course not – she even kinda liked probing her pearly teeth on it – it was the lack of feeling being cared for. That he indeed wasn't her Mom. Oh how much she missed her now.

She sat with her chin pressed against her collarbone until a long shadow hovered over her, and Greg took the plate from before her.

"You finished here, right?"

She remained silent.

"I have to get back to studying. …You can hear me out if you want."

Her head snapped up and there was a delightful smile on her face.

"Really?"

"Really. Just don't do the pouting." – He ushered her out the kitchen, dropping their plates into the sink on the way.

* * *

><p>"And what's this?"<p>

"A shunt. It's driven all the way up to… here, under the skin; there, see?, to drain the pus from the wound."

"Ew. Why do you have to learn so many icky things?"

"Because the human body is icky, basically." – He thought for a second. – "It's like… have you ever seen your father tinker on his car?"

Allie shook her head.

"My Daddy's in the sky with the angels and with Mr. Doozy, and we don't have a car. He was my hamster."

"Who?"

"Mr. Doozy. He was my hamster, but Mirka ate him, and now Mommy says he's in Heaven with my Dad. But I don't know how he can be in Heaven when he's in Mirka's tummy. Did he disappear from Mirka, the moment he went to Heaven? Did Mirka feel it? She must've become hungry again, if so."

Greg stared at her, dumbfounded. She looked back at him with open, innocent eyes. He blinked a few times.

"So… you must've seen a neighbor then, fixing their car. They'll get all dirty, hands covered in gasoline, but when they're done, the car runs smoothly, and is nice to look at. And it is the same with…"

He stopped because he realized that the little girl wasn't paying attention anymore. He couldn't blame her: he himself couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken this much at once. There was something in this child, in her honest interest, curiosity, innate intelligence and empathy that gave him the need to open towards her. He scooted an inch further from her on the sofa.

"..You're right." – he murmured. – "It's just icky."

He turned his attention back to the book. A couple of seconds later, one of his notepapers blocked his sight of the current page. But instead of medical illustrations and definitions in his own scrawl, he saw a cavalcade of red, gold, brown and orange on it. He was surprised himself, but it was pleasing to look at. He picked it up.

"Wow. Did you draw this?"

Allie nodded eagerly.

"Yes! To you!"

"O-okay… And what the heck is this?"

The girl giggled, and turned the paper upside down in his hand.

"Yeah right." – He still had no clue of what he was supposed to see. – "Don't you kiddos normally draw stickmen and stuff like that?"

Allie shook her head.

"But look at it! It's that tree!" – She pointed out the window. – "It's a Japanese autumn maple tree, or by other name, an Acer!" – she recited, the way she'd been taught by her mom.

"Wow." – he said again. This kid sure as hell had the brains.

"I love that tree! Because its leaves are red, like all the other trees' in the autumn time; but they are always red, even if it's not autumn, did you know that? It's as if there was always autumn time! I wish there was, because I love autumn, it's so beautiful! I love, I lo-ove autumn!" – she sing-songed, hopped off the couch, and started a crazy spinning in front of the window, arms and pigtails floating around her.

He watched her, the last rays of light highlighting her gleaming eyes and laughing teeth, embracing her lithe form in a fiery glow, and he felt an unexplainable rage and bitterness grow and quickly emerge in him. He tore his eyes off her, and turned it back on the book in front of him.

"What!" – he spat in a low voice, tasting the bitterness it in his mouth. – "You love it, don't you? Wonder why… Perhaps because you're an ignorant toddler. You think you live in some… rainbows and lollypops pony world, and see everything through your cute pink glasses. Care to hear something funny?" – He roughly tossed the drawing aside. – "Those leaves turn red and yellow because they're dying. The chlorophyll decomposes in them; the tree stops its most basic vital functions, and those useless organs dry and fall off it, to end up as plain, dark dirt, just like your…"

He got to his senses and bit his tongue. He won't tell a four-year-old that her father is decaying in the damp ground instead of watching her from above. Or her hamster. No, even he can't go that low. His eyes flickered up. He hoped that she hadn't listened to him, again, and was still doing that silly baby dance of hers or something; but she stood still, staring at him. Great, now comes the whining for sure.

But there weren't any tears to see; her eyes merely darkened to a deep storm-color (or it's just the sun set entirely, leaving the street, the garden and the living room in a staggering semidarkness), and her tiny hands balled into fists. Then…

"Liar!" – she screamed at him. – "Don't you lie!" – She took a quick but deep breath, and it tore up as if from the bottom of her soul:

"I hate you!"

She threw herself into the furthest of the large armchairs, and curled up in a ball, facing away from him. Suddenly the room went all quite; only her ragged breathing could be heard sometimes. And for him, his own blood drumming in his ears and painting his cheeks to the crimson of shame.

He huffed, and without a word, gathered his book and notes, walked to the armchair he'd spent most of the afternoon in, and slumped down. He reached down to turn the floor lamp on, looked up where he'd left off, arranged the notes around him, and buried himself into the craved distraction.


	4. Part 4 of 4

After a half an hour of looking at the same sentence (and still not registering anything of it), he gave up and glanced at the clock, then the small frame in the armchair. Maybe she fell asleep. He stood and walked to her. No such luck; she was idly pulling on the loose ends of thread in the carpeting. Leave it to children to destroy furniture.

"Bedtime for you, kid." – he said in a low voice. He waited for an answer for a few seconds in vain, then went and picked up the overnight bag the girl's mother left for them.

"I think we just leave it to your mother to clean you up properly, when you get home." – he said, more to himself. He realized he was still half-whispering. Damn this silence! It feels like in a tomb. – "I suggest you just… Toothbrush, great!" – he exclaimed, relieved, a bit too loudly for the significance of the finding. He walked back to the couch, and poked the girl's back with it. She slowly sat up and looked at him with such an emotionless gaze that he shivered.

"Brrr, icy!" – he tried to lighten the mood. – "Here. Toothbrush, toothpaste… pink, what the…? …anyway, PJ's. Bathroom down the hall and then to the left." – Confusion spread over the child's features. – "Right." – he sighed. – "You really should know this by now. C'mon."

He took her down the hall and then to the left; and he waited leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door until she emerged, clad in pale blue pajamas with yellow bunnies running around on the collar and hem.

"You can actually get dressed by yourself. You definitely have a future." – he stated while they walked back towards the small guest room, deciding to ignore the little white label dangling on the outside of the pajama coat. Once in the room, he quickly arranged her plush blanket and teddy…alligator? on the middle of the bed, creating a sort of nest, then caught her under the armpits and placed her on top of it all. She quickly cocooned herself in comfort, and was now looking at him with her enormous eyes.

"Do you need a bedtime story or something?" – he asked uncomfortably. She shook her head.

"Night lamp?"

"I'm not afraid in the dark."

"O look, she can talk! …Okay then. Well… g'night, kid."

"Good night."

He still saw as she clutched the toy gator's tail, buried her face in the pillow, then he shut the door with a click. A second later, he reopened it, and left a gap between it and the doorframe.

* * *

><p>He couldn't stop his eyes from flickering back on the wall clock again and again, watching the precious minutes of his studying time tick away. He was unable to focus his thoughts; something that only happened very rarely to him. He couldn't fight the feeling that something had gone irrevocably wrong, but what, he couldn't put his finger on. He felt broken and twisted. What was wrong with him? Snapping on a baby, verbally abusing her, only because he couldn't bear the envy he felt for her naïve innocence. He simply cannot be that screwed up – and still, he seems to. Maybe this kid has to see a shrink until she's thirty, only because in his pointless anger, he forced her to face something that is within the limits of a full-grown mind even. His father had been right: he mustn't be let near anything precious, because he doesn't know how to take care of it.<p>

He ran a hand over his face, trying in vain to get rid of the cobweb of self-blame. He only looked up when the wooden floor creaked silently. The little girl was squinting despite the low lighting, and was poking the waxed parquet with a bare big toe.

"Are you crying?" – she asked. Gregory's eyes widened.

"What? …No! Why aren't you in bed?"

"You forgot to undo my hair. It feels itchy when I lay down my head."

"Well deal with it, because I'm not doing anything to your hair." – Greg assured her hurriedly. She then padded to him with quick footsteps, and with no hesitation, she climbed into his lap, kicking a bunch of notes off to the floor in the process. Greg sat frozen, his hands in the air to avoid as much physical contact with the child as possible.

"Get off me!" – he protested. The girl didn't even flinch.

"Put the lights off, I want to sleep."

"On top of me?" – he complained desperately, but reluctantly twisted in the chair and clicked the light switch next to him. Darkness engulfed them, and the chirr of crickets from outside the window suddenly became louder.

He listened to her silent snuffles, still sitting as stiff as a corpse in his seat; and he thought she's gone to sleep when she talked.

"Actually, it wasn't just my hair. I think I was afraid, just a little."

He felt a jolt of pain in his chest, but didn't know what to say.

"I tell you a secret, okay?" – the little girl whispered. He felt her shift in his lap, a sharp knee dug into his thigh, then he felt her warm breath tickle his ear.

"Sometimes, when I'm alone in the dark, I talk to my daddy." – she breathed. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He wasn't up to some ghost whisperer kid sort of a story right now.

"I ask him to come back to us, but he never says anything. I think he can't hear me. Mommy says he can, but I can't see how's that possible if he's in the sky. I would surely see him if he was close enough to hear when I talk. Maybe he is invisible! Do you think he became actually invisible?" – she asked him, a subdued excitement in her tone.

"I don't know." – he managed to force out through his tight throat. – "Why should I know?"

"Because you're going to be a doctor. Doctors work in the hospital. My Dad died in a hospital! You must know much about these things. Why didn't the doctors give him a jab to make him healthy? When I got one and it hurt very badly, Mommy said it was for me to be healthy. Why didn't they just do the same to him?"

He gulped, and felt a rock of the size of a van compress his chest.

"Have you tried to ask your mom about this?"

He felt her start nodding.

"Yes. But every time I try, she just strokes my head and says I'm too small to understand."

"Maybe because you are too small. Stop thinking so much; it'll make your brain boil up."

"Really?" – she asked, alarmed.

"No, not really. But now, let's get you back in bed."

He started to stand, but she threw her arms tightly around his neck, and pleaded him desperately.

"No! No! Please answer me! Otherwise I'll never find out when I'm big enough to understand!"

He gave up and leaned back against the backrest.

"And what makes you think you'll manage to bribe an answer out of me, if you can't manipulate your mother enough to make her give it to you?"

She leaned back to his ear to whisper.

"Because you're not as much of a grown-up as her."

He squeezed his eyes shut. He's going to regret this so much.

"What exactly do you want to know?"

She sighed contentedly, and relaxed against him.

"Where is my Daddy right now?"

"Nowhere. He's dead."

"Not what he is! Where he is!"

"He doesn't exist anymore."

There was a moment of silence.

"What you're saying, it's not making any sense."

"That's all I can provide, sorry."

She chuckled.

"Why did the doctors let him become dead?"

"Because they got overpowered by death."

"Weren't they strong enough? They should've gotten a big sword to fight him."

In the shelter of darkness, he smiled. This whole night seemed surreal. Not only because he was discussing death with a four-year-old, but because he actually started having the urge to treat her as a partner in the conversation.

"Death is not a »him«, it's a phenomenon."

"A what?"

"A concept." – He thought for a second. – "Like… autumn. It's like autumn."

He was satisfied with the newly found metaphor, so he went with it.

"Autumn isn't a person, either, who cools the air down and paints the leaves red. It's just something that happens. When it's time for it to happen, leaves die. When it's time for death for some reason, like old age, an accident or a disease, people… die. It just happens to each individual separately, not like autumn that affects all of the trees at once. You're with me?"

"I'm right here." – came the child's voice from below.

"I mean, do you get it?"

"I think." – she said, a little uncertain. – "Do you think this means I'm big enough?" – she asked in a hopeful tone.

"Maybe." – he agreed generously.

"But when it's time for autumn, nothing can be done to stop it from coming, no matter that I still want to wear my summer dress. Mommy says it's too cold for it and dresses me in my sweater. If death is the same, then why are there doctors, if they can't stop it?"

Greg rolled his eyes. This is getting tricky.

"Because, sometimes, they can do things to postpone it. That gives people more time to live, and get used to the thought that eventually, they'll have to go."

"Sometimes. Not when my daddy got sick?"

"No. He had no luck."

Allie remained silent for a while, processing all the new things she had just heard. Her eyelids felt heavier and heavier though. Thinking this hard for this long was indeed exhausting. She thought she actually felt her brain boil a little, even though Greg said he'd been joking about that. She let her head drop against his chest.

"When I love somebody," – she started, and let her eyes slip closed. – "I let them play with my toys, tell them secrets, and I go with them for a walk. When somebody I love gets dead, I can't do any of these with them anymore. But you say that something can be done to let them stay longer. Sometimes." – she specified. – "If I can do something for doing things with somebody any longer, then I'll have to try and do that, don't I?..." – She had to stop to give in to a yawn. – "It must be hard though. That you know that it's only sometimes that you can beat death."

The end of the monologue was merely a hardly comprehendible mumbling as she slowly floated out from reality, gradually forgot where she was, and soon all she was aware of was an incandescent red foliage she could see behind her eyelids, and words she couldn't place in context anymore:

"It is."

* * *

><p>The touch of the pillow on her cheek and the smells around her all felt alien, and so did the lights she saw through the gap of her lashes; she involuntarily reached out for a bar of her crib, but only thin air her hand grasped. But the palm on her hair and the voice over her were finally familiar, and she didn't get frightened when she felt being lifted and carried.<p>

"Mommy!" – she smiled, still on the verge of sleep.

"Yes, Mommy's here, sweetheart; we're going home."

Home. The word lulled her in a state of such comfort and safety, that she almost fell back asleep. But suddenly she heard a voice that made her eyes snap open and look for its source. The person she was looking for was talking to Mrs. House in a low voice, leaning against the doorframe of the living room. His eyes slowly wandered away, and stopped at her. She smiled at him wholeheartedly. He kept looking at her, but didn't return the smile. He just observed her very, very seriously. She even detected a hint of sadness in the look. But she couldn't believe anymore how those clear blue eyes could have ever made her afraid. Those were the most beautiful and calming thing she had ever seen, she felt now. Her eyes slid back shut and she dropped her head on her mother's shoulder. As a stream of cool air and the scent of fallen leaves hit her, she nuzzled against her face, and whispered in her ear:

"Mommy, guess what I'll become when I grow up!"

* * *

><p>Thank you for reading :) Please share what's on your mind! Love, WQ<p> 


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